The afternoon wore on, but the loyal spectators of the Vagon tournament stayed to watch the intense match between Jaxon and Zentaro.
Tension mounted as the two fighters fought hard, each striving to dominate the other.
The lights beaming down on Jaxon and Zentaro revealed bruises mixed with sweat across their faces and bodies. The ring floor was smeared with blood and sweat, making it look like a sea of pain.
A sharp, metallic smell hung around the ring.
"You don't belong here," Zentaro sneered. "You should be in prison—or even hell." He glared at Jaxon with pure hatred. His eyes were calculating, his fists clenched tightly, ready to strike at any moment.
Zentaro's Japanese face looked strangely calm, hiding the intense desire to crush Jaxon and prove his superiority.
Jaxon grinned. "Did I hear that right? I'm the top fighter in Group C—did you forget that?"